Moment of Truth

It turned out to be a busy day for both of us, Freckles and me. Sure, for me, it started out pretty much like any other, if a bit earlier. I shaved a little closer than usual, and brought my travel shaving kit to work so that I could get rid of the coffee breath and the mid-day stubble before it was time for our lunch. In it, I packed my favorite cologne.

I got a message that my 9:00 am meeting from yesterday, an old friend who’d failed to show up, would be coming this morning. The meeting was important, but I steeled myself for the task of cutting it short at 10:30, regardless of what had been resolved or decided in the meeting by then.

I kept the meeting on topic, and wrapped things up with an impromptu phone call to a colleague in Hawaii to confirm that our decisions had been the correct ones.

They were.

At 10:30 exactly, I excused myself, surreptitiously snagging my shaving kit and made for the men’s room. I could feel the adrenaline rasping excitedly through my arteries and veins.

I had to take a moment to steady my hand before I applied the razor to my face…A slip and I’ll still be bleeding at lunch. My reflection and I exchanged a long, steady look. This is important. Relax. No cream, just hot water, I shaved myself as smooth as I ever get. Cologne, not too much, just a spritz on the inside of my right wrist, then a quick wipe of the wrist on my cheeks and throat.

Ready.

I headed back to my office, and walking in, fellow cubizen and usual lunch partner Buck asks what I’m planning for lunch.

“Sorry, man. I’ve got an…appointment.”

“Oh? Are you gone for the day, then?”

“Uh, I don’t know.” I hesitate a moment. “Actually, it’s a date.” I cringe, and take a moment to silently castigate myself. So much for the downlow. “I have a lunch date.”

“Cool!” he says. “Well, good luck!”

Tim, another co-worker, asks, “Can we come along? We’ll be quiet, I promise.” There is mischief in his eyes.

“Absolutely not.” I wonder if I should change the place for our lunch date to somewhere farther from the base…it’s possible that they may choose the same place at random. I decide it’s worth the risk, and say nothing.

I head out to the spot Freckles and I agreed to meet. She had told me she also had a meeting, and that she’d try to be out of it before 11:00, but that these meetings always run long. “If I’m late, don’t worry, I’ll be there eventually. If you’re not there, I’ll look for you in your office.”

Sure enough, she’s late. I head back to the office, regretting again that I’d mentioned the word “date”. Now, I will have to explain why I am back so soon.

Head down, I mutter, “Meeting,” in the direction of the inquisitive eyes, and settle down at my desk to do nothing while I wait.

B comes in and wants to know what’s going on for lunch, and Buck, helpful as ever, says, “Kurt has a date.”

As if on cue, Freckles walks in. She looks frazzled, and she is a little breathless. Ignoring my colleagues, she says, “Sorry my meeting went so long. Do you mind waiting while I change? I’m still in uniform. I can meet you down there in fifteen minutes, if that’s okay.”

Of course it is.

Knowing that fifteen minutes really means twenty, I exchange a look with Buck who nods his head. The look he gives me is inscrutable.

I head for the car, sorry that she won’t be riding with me because it means the date will be shorter by fifteen or twenty minutes, and I am already not willing to let it end.

She arrives a few minutes behind me, wearing a white hoodie and brown Capri pants that expose just a hint of her tummy. Her hair is down. I’ve never seen her with her hair down, and the sight is a bit overwhelming. If she was beautiful in uniform, her hair in a tight French braid, she is stunning with her hair unbound. In that moment, I am the luckiest man alive.

Waiting to order, we settle into an easy conversation about leadership issues and her concerns about one of her guys who just can’t seem to live up to the Navy’s expectations. She’s doing all she can to keep him from serious disciplinary action, but he requires near-constant supervision. That’s what awaits her after lunch. Another thing we have in common: compassionate leadership. Utmost concern for our troops. I tell her so, complimenting her on it.

Over lunch, we swap sea stories, two former cruiser sailors…she’s been there and so have I; we’ve both done that and got the t-shirt. We are both warriors, equals. Can this really be? I wonder.

We talk about office politics, how some thrive on it and others do not. “I could never be political,” she says. “I can’t lie to anyone about anything.” I have already sensed this about her, but I do not say so. I look into her eyes, smile and think, exactly the quality I’m looking for.

She talks about her concern for her weight, how she’s been working hard to control it and to lose more. She’s so honest she tells me her exact weight. “You don’t need to,” I say. “I’ve noticed that you’ve lost weight, but you look amazing right now.” And I tell her that the first time we spoke, she was so beautiful that I could think of nothing to say.

She takes compliments well, I must say.

The conversation flows easily, and after an hour or so, she says she needs to get back to her troops, but she lingers for a few more minutes, laughing as we each tell another story. I ask her callsign, and she tells me, then surprises me by knowing mine. Of course, I realize after a moment, it’s in my e-mail signature. Still, she’s been paying attention.

We slide the remains of our salads into boxes…quite a lot, actually, since we were both engrossed in the conversation…and head for the door.

“Thank you for lunch,” she says. “I had a good time.”

“Me, too. Would you like to go out again sometime, maybe for dinner and a movie?”

She looks at me and smiles. “I’d love to, but, I…have a boyfriend.”

He’s deployed to the Gulf right now, and there’s no firm word on when he’ll be back, and we share a sad chuckle about the uncertain state of things for the military now, with the War on Terrorism and the war in Iraq. It is the first uncomfortable moment, not because of the revelation, but because war is regrettable.

“We can still get together for lunches, though,” says she. “I’d really like that.”

I will, too.